CHAPTER 3 - Prelude To Tragedy
That's it, I'm going to die. Mac thought to herself as she was pushed into a tub filled with putrid smelling water. She tried holding her breath as her assailant pushed her head under but, eventually her lungs began to ache and the desperate need for oxygen had her take a breath. The water rushed into her lungs and a pain unlike anything she'd ever felt assaulted her senses. She fought to bring her head out of the water and eventually was dropped, unceremoniously, on the ground next to the tub.
Coming up onto her hands and knees, Mac felt her stomach lurch as her body threw up the water she'd ingested. Before she could get her bearings, rough hands grabbed her arms and she was back in the tub again but, this time she wasn't drowned merely thrown in another tub filled with water and ice. The frigid liquid cut into her skin like tiny knives inflicting a type of pain that Mac never thought possible. Her breath caught in her throat, lungs squeezed tightly and she could feel her already exhausted body try to slip out of consciousness.
"Keep her awake." A man spoke in a Russian accent before someone waved an acidic smelling concoxion under her nose. She took a whiff and was instantly alert enough to try and fight against the hands on her bicep and was kneed in the gut for her efforts.
"String her up." Mac's hands, that were cuffed behind her back were raised upwards.
"Ahhh!" She could feel ligaments tearing in her left shoulder as they forced her arms up and over her head. Her vision was swimming, tunneling. Wet hair was matted to her face and she deftly remembered needing to get it cut. Out of exhaustion, her head rolled back and Mac glanced up to find a thick metal block and tackle which her cuffs had been placed over. Another man, one that was called Yuri began to rachet the contraption, raising her up so that her toes barely grazed the floor.
"They say a woman's face is never so beautiful as when it is etched in pain and you, my dear, are stunning." Ilya Mikhailov, the man that she was sent to seduce stepped out of the shadows.
He stared at Mac and how her wet t-shirt clung to her like a second skin, revealing her curves and the swell of her breasts. He legs were bare and the shirt had raised to her middriff exposing the blue bikini underwear she wore. He had enjoyed her company, somewhat, up until the moment she'd decided not to sleep with him. "I never wanted a woman like I did you, Anna."
Anna? Who the hell was Anna? Oh, right, Anna Bizhan, her cover created by the CIA in order to insert Mac deep undercover in a short period of time. Anna was an Iranian-American translator working at the US Embassy in Paris. She was well dressed, sexy and played hard to get after her first encounter with Mikhailov.
It was easy to attract the man's attention especially when you rammed the front of vehicle into the back of his. "I'm sorry, my heel got stuck in the accelerator." She had said when she stepped out of her loaner wearing a classy black skirt and blouse set that accentuated her curves. "I'll pay for the damages."
"Have dinner with me instead." Ilya was instantly taken by Mac's exotic looks and stopped at nothing until she went out with him. She had refused once, twice, a third time before finally accepting his advances when he'd filled apartment with roses. Ilya stood outside her window serenading Mac along with a string quartet. It amused her the lengths some men would go to win a woman's affections.
And then there was Harm who's good looks and charm had women practically throwing themselves at him. And that is where the problems began, when Mac compared him to Ilya. As she began dating the man, her concentration seemed to waver enough that Simon Atwell, her handler at the agency had mentioned it.
Each time Ilya made to kiss her, Mac would turn away. "Not yet." She was surprised at his restraint and the way he kept after her. Sadly, she wondered why Harm hadn't done the same. He seemed so damned content to keep her at arm's length until she was out of reach. Then he would turn around and act like a jealous boyfriend.
Eventually, she allowed Ilya to kiss her and surrendered to the sensations that made her feel like a woman. She enjoyed his advances, the lavish gifts and the flowers all the while waiting for the Agency to give her final instructions.
She always kept Mikhailov at a distance, allowing him to kiss and touch just enough to leave him wanting more - wanting her. The game went on for over two months until the CIA had sent her final objective - sleep with Mikhailov in order to get access to his private office and a usb drive that held the locations of several cargo ships trafficking young women into Europe. Women that would be sold as slaves to the highest bidder.
The agency had withheld that final bit of information away from her, insisting she was sent to monitor his communication with Russia. It was when she was ordered to bed Ilya that Mac's resolve wavered.
Mikhailov had wined and dined her, played the perfect, romantic suitor and it seemed to have worked for once. Mac had been putty in his arms, a willing participant to make out with in the back of his limousine. She had slid up onto his lap and ground against him while trying to incapacitate him.
And that is where Mac had made her fatal mistake. The agency insisted on physical intimacy as a reason for her being in Mikhailov's private quarters. The man was seldom without his security detail unless he was in his room.
To the Agency, Ssex was just that, sex. It was something Mac had been lead to believe could happen without the need for attachments or messy emotions. Sex with Ilya would be nothing more than business. The man was attractive, with chiseled good looks and the charisma that could draw any woman in. It should have been simple, effortless, just an impersonal act.
An impersonal act that would turn her into a thing for the Agency - a whore.
Mac couldn't shake the nagging feeling, the thought of what Harm would think if he found out. She couldn't live with seeing the disappointment in his eyes, the anger that she'd betrayed...what exactly? They weren't a couple, never had been. What did it matter what he thought or who she fucked?
There will never be an us.
She had severed ties with him in the most despicable way and then sent him home, alone. Mac didn't thank him for saving her, didn't try to make him see that she loved him so much it hurt. No, she went for the jugular and couldn't shake that hurt look in his eyes.
There will never be an us.
God, if he only knew what she had done, the sacrifice she made in order to save him. He wouldn't of understood otherwise. He would have tried to play hero again. Paraguay had been her mess, not his.
So, no. It didn't matter who she slept with or the fact that, to get through nights in Ilya's arms, she would close her eyes and pretend it was Harm. When Ilya kissed her, it was Harm's lips she imagined against her own. Harm's hands, not Ilya's that would caress her skin.
But, it did matter and as Mikhailov made to undress and have sex with Mac in the back of the limo, she acted out of fear. The ring she wore that night had a secret compartment that held a powder she needed him to breathe in.
The charming man had turned too rough. His touch on her body hurt as he squeezed her breast almost painfully. He practically tore at her dress all the while leaving the partition open so that his security detail could watch as he defiled her.
She had tried to slow him down but, it was no use. Somewhere, in the back of her mind Mac remembered his dossier and a note that he enjoyed perverse tastes. So, she snuck open the compartment in her ring and shoved it up to his nose.
Mac played the dumb female in front of the guards, asking them to help Mikhailov up to his room so that they could continue what they started. They'd been stupid enough to believe her except for Yuri. The man had never trusted her.
Once inside the room, she waited several long minutes to enter the adjacent office where she would search for the USB drive. She found it in a drawer and used her own USB drive hidden inside the tube of her lipstick to copy the files.
It was then that Yuri found her and despite Mac's attempt to feign innocence, he knew something was off. He ordered Mac to be searched and discovered the collection of gadgets masquerading as beauty products.
Moments later she would be rendered unconscious.
"I told you she was not to be trusted Ilya." Yuri spoke while keeping his eyes on Mac. "Who do you work for?"
Mac's tears of pain had clouded her vision. She could see Yuri holding some object but, couldn't figure out what it was. "I am a translator for the US Embassy. I swear it… Please let me go. Please Ilya. I'm in so much pain."
Mikhailov motioned at Yuri and turned his back as the other man stepped towards Mac with a metal pipe. Yuri wound up and slammed the pipe into her gut, just below the ribs. Her screams echoed in the room she was held in and Mac prayed someone would hear. "Please, no...I don't know anything!"
But, when she yelled out, Yuri struck again slamming the pipe into Mac's left flank. Her breath was completely sucked out of her body as she felt her ribs break. Everytime Mac thought the pain could not be worse, Yuri had tried something different, a new form of pain and torture.
He wound up once more, hitting her on the same side. Mac struggled to catch her breath and felt a tightening in her chest she had never experienced before. She couldn't breathe.
She welcomed the sensation of fainting and prayed they would not wake her from it again but, they did.
"Please stop." Her words were barely a whisper as the pain in her chest became unbearable. "Ilya, please stop this." She managed to wheeze out before passing out.
Somewhere in the darkness of her mind, Mac could hear a loud explosion, gun fire and then silence. The room was bathed in a bright, white light and she wondered if that was what death felt like.
There will never be an us.
"I"m sorry, Harm." She whispered before darkness claimed her.